Dystopia
by Gunnerysarge
Summary: A dead agent has supplied a Resistance stronghold with valuable information on the Combine. But with time running out as the Combine bear down on them, can they use it to save themselves?
1. Prologue

_Prologue: Desperation_

C-17/3365's heartbeat smashed at his chest, a jackhammer pounding his skull. His lungs burned and his breath came in fast, ragged gasps. He had rolled his left ankle, but his feet kept pounding the concrete, faster even than his racing heartbeat. The home-made bag at his hip smashed against him painfully, and the coarse, poorly fitting blue overalls scraped and flapped around him. The long, dry concrete drainage tunnel echoed with the _slap-slap-slap _of his cheap, ragged trainers as he raced towards the light. There was no other sound to be heard, but he knew that he was only seconds ahead of - there. He could hear the CPs now, their synthesised radio chatter bouncing down the tunnel's walls, the rustling and clanking of the equipment on their belts. C17/3365 pulled up short as he reached the end of the tunnel. There was light at the end-but no escape. The tunnel led straight out of the face of a hydro power dam. There was nothing but a sheer drop to a shallow lake below, and the grimy polluted grey sky that hurt his eyes after the dim tunnel. But the sky-that was all that mattered now. Free of the concrete labyrinth, the reprogrammed man hack in his bag would be able to lock onto a Resistance beacon, and bring the vital information in its tiny computer brain where it was needed. He tore it from the bag and pressed hard on its little glass lens. Instead of glowing angry, scarlet red the eye flashed a comforting green as it confirmed the signal's faint presence. The wickedly sharp rotors spun, and C17/3365 heaved the little drone into the air like a falconer.

As the heavy boot steps thumped closer, he watched it soar away to the southeast. One more man hack in City 17 would attract no attention. But he had no time to congratulate himself. There was a harsh electrical buzzing at his back and he turned to see two charging Civil Protection Officers, stun sticks raised. But they were too far away to stop him now. From the baggy folds of his overalls he drew a cocked CP-issue USP pistol. The officers threw themselves to the floor of the tunnel to try and evade. But the pistol had no magazine-just a single chambered round. C17/3365 knew too much to fall into Combine hands, and the Resistance had made it clear what they expected of him in the face of imminent capture. He didn't mind much.The alternative of torture and eventually being turned to into a drooling, subservient Stalker wasn't too attractive either. Time seemed to slow as he brought the USP's barrel up under his chin. The officers were rising now in slow motion, desperate to stop their valued prisoner. But they were far too late. His finger clenched around the trigger. He had done his part.

_Gunnerysarge Presents:_

_Dystopia_

_A Half-Life 2 Fan Fiction_


	2. Com Drop

Gustav sat on his muscular haunches and listened to the dull drumming of the rain. The weak winter sun had failed to penetrate the thick pollution-laden overcast, and cold, wind-driven rain was bucketing down in sheets. The countryside just outside City 17 was much sparser and desolate than the pre-Combine days, but still a welcome change in scenery after the 'Pit' as most Resistance grunts called it. Pulling com-drop duty was a sweet deal by any Resistance member's standards. Com-drop was essentially deploying a beacon in a pre-designated area of countryside for reprogrammed intelligence manhacks to home in on. The area was then staked out from a camoflaged, bunker-like hide close by. The hides were cramped even for one person but cosy and dry. They were only noticable if someone managed to spot the narrow view slot through the screen of tall grass in front of it. Gustav lay back against the rear wall of the hide. This particular hide was partially dug into a hillside, with a plywood roof camoflaged with turf. He extracted a small container of what the Overwatch Food Distribution Authority termed 'DRINK RATION /C7-HOT' from his thigh pocket, poured it into a tin can and added some rainwater. Then he moulded a CP issue chemical heat pack around it and set it down in the soft earth near his feet. It was the closest thing to coffee they had anymore, but from its taste it was probably sawdust and ground acorns. At least it was warm though. A Resistance-made crossbow lay across his knees, a crude amalgamation of angle iron, fibreglass rod and plywood. It wasn't pretty and it wasn't light but they were easy to make, quiet and had a long range. Besides, Gustav didn't think there was a Resistance fighter alive who didn't get a kick out of nailing a CP to a wall with half a metre of sharpened, red hot re-bar.

Gustav picked up the now steaming drink and sipped gingerly. He was sorely tempted to spit it out, but in the cramped confines of the shelter it would probably have ended up all over some item of his gear. He looked out through the hide's narrow view slot. He noticed the wind direction had changed, and the rain had stopped. He would go for a short stroll after he had finished his drink. Or at least he would have done, if his keen eyes hadn't spied the tiny gunmetal drone's glowing eye against the overcast. As he watched, it made a circuit around the beacon to determine its precise location, then touched down gently in the long grass a few metres away. Gustav stretched out prone, and put the 3-power scope of the crossbow to his eye. He swept the treeline, just in case the CPs were setting a trap for him. It was a pointless gesture really. If the CPs or Overwatch knew he was here, they would pick up his IR signature with their equipment and blow his hide to pieces before he even knew they were there. He slithered out of the viewslot on his stomach and made his way down the hill to the beacon, slowly sweeping his shouldered crossbow back and forth. He slung his crossbow, knelt in the grass and picked up the manhack. Using the knife on his belt he popped open the small access door and extracted a tiny USB drive. He stowed it safely in his pocket and folded up the blades of the manhack. Gustav stood up, looking skywards. Grey clouds loomed again, and massive raindops began to spatter on his face. Thunder boomed in the distance. He sighed. It was time to return to the City.

**A/N: Sorry for the slow update, but I have alot of schoolwork going on right now. I will try to keep them slow and steady however. Don't forget to review on your way out. **


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